Fullmetal Through the Years
by Acid Rain
Summary: Brief peeks at the relationship between Ed and Roy, or more specifically, Roy's couch.


_I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist and am using the characters created by Hiromu Arakawa without her permission, purely to spread the love._

_No real pairings. Anime based. Reluctantly parental Roy. Foul language. Short drably scenes that may someday become a proper fic._

-1-

Edward Elric blazed into his office, demanding to take the State Certification Exam for Alchemists. He had the drive, the ambition, hell, the _limbs_ and no one could question the kid's talent. All that was left was for Roy to figure out how to put the best spin on the situation.

And what to do with two little kids until the next exam, which was four months away.

Because the real issue, the real prodigy and the real problem had thrown his diminutive self down on Roy's office couch, prepared to camp out until he was allowed to take the test. The gritty determination had given way to huffing boredom and finally, Edward had curled up like a kitten and fallen asleep.

The kid looked utterly adorable, as Maes pointed out –twice- and Hawkeye had even mentioned once. Roy liked cute kids as well as the next bachelor, which was to say, if they were clean, quiet, far away, and someone else's problem. Currently, Ed appearing angelically defenseless was not working to either of their advantages.

The armor, which housed the younger brother for reasons best never questioned, lurked awkwardly near the door. Roy would not have guessed a 7 foot tall armored being would be easy to ignore or forget, but Alphonse had proven him wrong twice this afternoon alone. For a nine or ten year old boy, he showed remarkable patience and restraint. Unless he was asleep as well.

"Sir," Hawkeye said reproachfully, in that special tone she reserved for warning Roy he was about to make a near fatal mistake, "He's very young."

"About 13," Roy lied blithely.

"Eleven." Hawkeye corrected sternly.

"That's about 13."

"What were you doing when you were eleven, Colonel?"

Roy blinked. What had he been doing? Chafing at the dullness of his small home town, embarrassed by the sissiness of a father who worked for the railroad as an _accountant_, dealing with bullies who objected to the Xingian blood Roy and his mother shared… Slowly, he answered honestly, "When I was eleven, my only goal was to get a pony."

He leaned back in his chair. "We lived in town and had no where to keep a horse. And no point in having one, since you could walk anyplace in the village in half a minute. But some of the farm kids at school rode their own ponies in and I wanted one." Roy shook his head.

His doting parents had sent Roy to spend the summer with his maternal grandparents. They lived, to Roy's eleven-year-old horror, in an even smaller town even further out in the middle of Nowhere. This was compensated for by the fact that his grandfather was the town blacksmith. Smith meant horseshoes and that meant horses and ponies and Roy was in heaven.

Roy spent his days helping about the smithy, working hard, gaining strength and muscle. He learned about heat and the power of fire and the importance of oxygen, and after an irascible horse bit him, his dreams changed from horsemanship to sparks and flames. In the evenings, basking in the cool of the dark stone house, Roy would watch as his Xingian grandmother stitched meticulous patterns onto flawlessly white linens. She'd made his first pair of gloves; he still used her alchemical circles to keep his clothing neat and clean.

Roy leaned forward on his desk, templing his fingers. "But by the end of the summer, all I wanted was to be an Alchemist."

Hawkeye sighed, defeated, and handed over the stack of reports on the people who had offered to foster Roy Mustang's latest discovery.

-2-

General Hakuro liked his staff meetings. When he felt something of importance was coming up, his standing order was all officers of field grade rank were required to attend. The medical officers could beg off, as well as a few of the Field and Investigations men, but Roy Mustang and a few others were always stuck attending.

Roy Mustang did not like staff meetings. He had been known to willingly schedule dental appointments and physicals to avoid them. The only high point of this one was the unfortunate Fullmetal, who with his typical bad luck happened to be on base making one of his infrequent reports. Edward Elric may not have worn or pushed his rank but he was a Major in the Amestris Military thus required to attend as well.

They held the meeting in Roy's Office, because it was central to the other divisions, and because it was a way Hakuro had of making sure Roy showed up. The General commandeered Roy's desk to chair the meeting and Roy ended up wedged on one of the couches next to the hulking Ops Officer from Logistics. Fullmetal was actually between them, but so small he was easily overlooked. In fact, the Ops Officer was using him as an armrest, and Roy could feel the inevitable explosion simmering. He quickly passed Ed the lion's share of the donuts and leaned forward to give the kid room to eat. It made him look more attentive, anyway.

Edward leaned back, momentarily distracted, and Roy hoped he wasn't getting powdered sugar all down his back. The meeting dragged on, and Roy noticed Fullmetal's weight against his shoulder was increasing. He shifted warningly and the kid grumbled but didn't move. Great. Edward Elric, his Prodigy and Discovery, was blatantly sleeping through the staff meeting. _And_ he was drooling on Roy's nice clean uniform. Roy squirmed again.

Hakuro caught the movement and beamed vindictively at Roy. "Thank you for volunteering to work on the Company Picnic, Flame."

_Goddammit_. Roy smiled falsely. "I'm afraid that might have a negative impact on my other duties, Sir."

"Oh no," Lucille Locke, a Light Colonel from the Judge Advocate's Office, said cheerfully. "It was decided that everyone not paying attention was on the committee."

"In that case," Roy said, giving in as charmingly as he could, "Allow me to suggest Fullmetal as the Chairman."

When Ed seconded that with a soft snore, the decision became unanimous.

-3-

Dr. Ruth Mitchell took her job very seriously. Too seriously, in Roy Mustang's opinion. He did not appreciate being summoned by a mere Captain, especially when he had a date that evening. But Dr. Mitchell was the current Chief Alchemical Surgeon on Base and she had A Problem. Its name was Edward Elric.

"Are you aware that the Fullmetal Alchemist is _thirteen years old_?" She hissed at Roy as soon as he entered her office.

"I believe he'll be fourteen sometime in January."

"He's a _child_."

Roy sighed, looking past her into the examination room, where a disturbingly battered and small blond alchemist sat on a paper covered table. "Fullmetal is an officer in the Amestris Military, Captain. Point of fact, he outranks you. If you object, take it up with General Hakuro, who personally sponsored him for the Exam, or our Fuhrer, who personally signed his Certificate and assigned his name."

Dr. Mitchell huffed, annoyed but not surprised Col. Mustang did not share her horror of babies in the military. "I am going to pull his field quals and restrict him to base. At least that way he'll have _some_ adult supervision."

"The hell you will!" Edward flew out of the exam room. "I need to be in Black Wulf by Thursday!"

"Major Elric," The doctor said in a far too condescending tone, "this is for your own good."

"Screw that! Colonel, she can't so this to me! …Can she?"

Roy rubbed his forehead. "Yes, actually, she can, if it's a medical matter."

"It _is_ a medical manner. Maj. Elric is underweight, exhausted, covered with bruises, missing limbs, suffering from a mild concussion and cracked ribs, and is _only thirteen_ _years old!_" Dr. Mitchell's voice rose on in pitch and volume for each of the last four words. "How does that equate in anyone's mind with military readiness?"

"What if I pull rank?"

"Won't work," they both said promptly. Roy explained, "Dr. Mitchell is the Acting Chief Alchemical Surgeon. You'd have to get a physical by someone who outranked her. Not just any doctor, an Alchemical Surgeon. You'd have to go to Central."

Ed sagged and looked so defeated even Roy felt guilty. Fortunately for them, so did Dr. Mitchell.

"If I thought this was atypical I might reconsider."

"It is! That was the mission from Hell, really, and it's all your fault for ambushing me in the hallway. Usually I spend a couple days healing up, you know, before my physical but-"

Roy clamped his hand over Fullmetal's mouth before he dug himself in any deeper. "Let's see what mutually satisfactory arrangement we can work out."

The problem with compromise, Roy thought a short while later, as he fetched pillows and blankets from the cedar chest, is that no one actually gets what he wants. Fullmetal got to spend the next 10 days resting and eating with Adult Supervision. Dr. Mitchell got to see Fullmetal again after 10 days and sign him back to active duty or watch him take off for Central demanding a second opinion, which would not look good on her record. And Roy… got to baby sit a highly volatile and easily bored alchemical genius. _For ten goddamn days._

"I'm not taking a nap like a baby!" Ed protested, glaring at the covers Roy dumped on the couch.

"Brother…" Al murmured, trying to make peace.

Roy pointed to the couch. "Fullmetal, lie your ass down and rest. That is a direct order from your commanding officer." They glared at each other before Al broke the stalemate by grabbing Ed by his concussed head and dragging him over to the couch.

Roy was so never having kids.

-4-

Being in the military, one expects injuries, Roy reflected. However, it was embarrassing to have survived the Ishbal front without a scratch only to be taken out by something as mundane as a drunk driver. When the man swerved to miss a pothole and plowed into the crowded sidewalk, Roy's first thought had been: _I should have studied barrier alchemy instead of fire._ He'd managed to push his date out of the way, but the automobile clipped Roy and sent him through the plate glass window of the restaurant. He was lucky, the doctors told him, to escape with only broken ribs, collar bone, and arm, and what felt like several pounds of glass embedded in his back, backside, and legs. Roy was not so sure.

He endured several days of painful treatments, ribbing from his subordinates, and being treated like an errant schoolboy by the elderly and ugly ward sisters. Finally, Roy had enough. He ordered Hawkeye to go home and rest ("I'm perfectly safe here, Lieutenant, I'm in a _hospital_ for the love of God!") and as soon as she was out of sight, Roy pulled rank and checked himself out. He called a taxi, because Havoc would be harder to get rid of than Hawkeye, who at least knew she couldn't hang around an unmarried male officer's quarters. He thought he endured the ride home rather well, but the cabbie insisted on helping him into his apartment, so maybe the only one Roy was fooling was himself.

He swallowed some painkillers dry and collapsed face down onto his wonderful, comfortable, private, bed. Roy was awakened some unknown time later by the telephone on his nightstand. Habit made him answer it, although if he'd been fully awake, he would have known better.

"I knew you'd check yourself out early," Hughes' voice said. Roy moaned. "Don't take that tone with me, you've been home at least 11 hours and I bet you haven't eaten or taken your meds or changed your dressings."

"Took my meds," Roy protested. And God, he needed more. He hurt all over.

"Mmm. I know you, Roy, which is why I took the liberty of sending along a care package and someone to look after you. The military won't give leave for best friends, sorry."

"You didn't send Gracia, did you?" God, she'd drop everything and come, too, and what the hell would he do with her? He'd have to make nice and eat her abominable cooking. Only Maes and Ed could stomach what came out of that woman's kitchen. Roy felt sorry for her kid. Slowly becoming more coherent, Roy realized some heavenly smell was wafting up from his kitchen. Not Gracia, then. "What am I smelling?"

"No, I keep telling you, you need to get your own wife. And that should be Mom's famous chicken and dumplings. I sent a big batch along with your nurses. There should also be a basket of survival supplies by your bed."

Roy focused on the basket, letting Hughes describe what was inside.

"Something sure to cheer you up and brighten your day," Hughes chirped. That would be a packet of photographs of Elysia, of course. "An apple pie, lovingly made by Gracia's own sweet little hands…" Thank God, apple pie was the one and only thing Gracia could cook that was edible. "And some pain killer." Was that a bottle of fine Drachman whiskey? Maes was the best friend a guy could have. "And two cute young nurses from Rizenbool."

"Maes, you are the b-" Wait. _Rizenbool?_ Roy painfully rolled over and managed to sit up. There, sprawled on the cuddle couch by the fireplace in the corner, was Fullmetal, sound asleep. "-biggest horse's ass I ever met!"

Hughes cackled gleefully. "Ed said it had to do with equivalent exchange and 10 days of babysitting. Buck up, they'll take good care of you. Gracia's even been teaching Al how to cook!"

Slamming the phone down made his entire side ache, but it was so, so worth it.

-5-

Fullmetal spent his 16th birthday in the hospital, a fact no one thought to acquaint Roy with until well after. Being sixteen made Edward a legal adult, and there were formalities that had been overlooked along the way that needed to be put in place. Roy sent for Fullmetal, intending on offering him a proper contract and the pay scale and research budget he probably had deserved all along. Roy was going to put Fullmetal up for promotion as well; he more than earned the increase in rank, but there was a limit as to how much underage brass the system could tolerate.

Roy had wanted to talk to Edward about the past and their potential future. He missed Hughes like he'd miss a part of him and Roy had thought – hoped- that perhaps he could persuade Fullmetal to take Hughes' place at his back. The kid was brilliant and loyal and uninterested in politics and the time had come to explain that there was more to life than the Great Elric Quest. That they had duties and responsibilities to the whole world.

He'd planned to apologize, too. Roy had been using the kid for years and they both knew it. Even if that furthered Fullmetal's goals as well as his own, Roy didn't like the feeling he was just another adult taking advantage of Edward Elric.

Then the shit storm that Maes' death had precipitated nearly consumed them all. And now, so much later, Roy looked at the blond alchemist dressed in the familiar red coat who was dozing on his couch and he realized that yes, he was still using the Elric magic to further his own goals.

Gently, he said, "Alphonse…"

-6-

The letter had almost been thrown away. Only the postmark from distant Rizenbool saved it, and the fact that the missive was addressed to "Colonel Mustang" caused an amused underling to place the envelope in the silver tray on the Fuhrer's desk. His hands trembling, Roy opened the letter and read words written by a revenant.

Edward and Alphonse Elric were back from where ever they'd been these long years. There was no mention of where or how or even when, just a simple, carefully worded update from an old friend: Alphonse was back in Rizenbool and Winry Rockbell had consented to be his wife.

Roy shook his head wonderingly. Alphonse was cautious as always, and not knowing the political climate or Roy's exact position, he didn't even allude to any dangerous heretical comments about the Gate, the Sins, or where the Elric brothers had been. Roy was touched that the boy thought to let him know first – well, first among his military comrades, at least.

Ah, but Alphonse was nobody's fool and he'd picked up a few manipulative skills of his own during their association. The final paragraph of the letter delicately hinted that Edward had not fared well on their excursions. Alphonse was again requesting Roy's help in locating his wayward brother. This time, it seemed, Edward was very much alive but insistent on remaining in Central on "personal business". Could the good Colonel please find Edward and make him come home?

Roy penned back a hasty letter of sincere congratulations. He added that he did not think anyone could force the former Fullmetal to do anything he did not want to do. But even as Roy signed his name, he was making plans to find him.

A week later Edward Elric was once again on Roy's couch. He'd been unceremoniously dropped there, gloriously drunk, by an emotional Alex Armstrong. Roy had heard Ed's distinctive protesting and cursing all the way from the circular drive in front of his mansion.

Ed sprawled on the expensive leather, glaring unfocusedly at them both. He was a little taller, maybe, and a little leaner, in the hard compact way of tightly worked muscle. He had several days growth of beard and an exquisite black eye, but his hair still fell like a shimmering sheet of gold and his good eye was as intelligent and molten as ever. The first words he said to his mentor and protector after a seven-year absence were, "Al put you up to this, didn't he?"

Roy sent the maid to make coffee, extra strong, and poured two snifters of brandy. When Ed figured out he wasn't getting one of those shots he simply rolled over, putting his back to Roy and Alex like an offended cat. He didn't even bother to remove his muddy boots.

"Where… how?" Roy couldn't decide which question to ask first.

"Local constabulary responded to a contretemps at a nearby speakeasy. When they arrived, instead of a dilapidated bar, they found a nearly palatial pub complete with neon sign. They couldn't arrest Edward for wrecking the place since he'd more than repaired it and the landlord wasn't about to press charges. They couldn't let an intoxicated alchemist loose on the streets, so they called my office. I bailed him out of the Drunk Tank and brought him, bitterly complaining I might add, to you." They watched Ed sleep a moment.

_Fifteen years,_ Roy thought, _and he's still making messes for me to clean up. He's still sleeping on my couch like a lost kitten. He's still utterly adorable._ He found his voice. "Edward Elric always made his own rules."

"He's a miracle," Alex replied, and they drank to that.


End file.
